Since the recent interest in our re- badged games, (we are waiting on an exciting financial offer from an undisclosed benefactor) which will bring new life into our celebrated family orientated entertainment initiative letters pour in.  One comes to us from near north east. We printed it joyously as testament to the tendentious.  It reads thus:

To the Editor,

Preservation of the Queen’s English, Dept.,

Dear Sir,

May I take an out-of-context moment to congratulate you on the length and breadth of your dangerously delicious piece. I am very glad to hear that you could slip it in the back way whilst those who might  object were being filled in elsewhere. I am also delighted to hear that when they woke up to the fact that it was in they decided to leave it there to allow the meatier side of your work some time to develop. From that point there was no going back so they had little choice but to enjoy the ride. Well done my boy! They’ll be expecting big things from you in the future.

And now to the serious business of threats to Her Majesty’s English.

‘…Breggzit…’ instead of ‘Brexit’ is having its day in the sun… I heard ‘predatorial’ the other day, and ‘ …in the future, going forward…’ several times, but the winner this month has to be, without a doubt, ‘…emotional…’

Sobbings and howlings, outbursts that inevitably result in heaving bosoms,, together with racked-with-grief shoulder-shaking, tear-stained cheeks, lawn hankies, choking sobs and teary, red-eyed sniffling, all of these, in the past were the journos salt and pepp

er which allowed them plenty of room to add piquance to  their essential work. They  achieved this by the use of perhaps extravagant (though entirely dignified) ways of seeing  the finer elements of tragedy represented superbly well in their columns.

That these few additional words served to add a modest boost to shamefully inadequate journo wage packets  has been seized upon by critics as examples of how modern journalists have failed to live up to the standards of  the industry’s illustrious past as represented by such lumenaries as Randolph Hearst, Conrad Black and in our time, Rupert Murdoch.

Be that as it may, the above criticism may be fairly judged to be a squib, a nonsense, a petty cavil.

I would infinitely prefer, for journalism’s sake, for the future of the written word, to describe a distraught, sobbing and beautiful  woman, clothing awry, her generous bosom bewitchingly barely bared, her breathing breathless as she attempts to describe some harrowing experience she has just experienced whilst she modestly attempts to hold together her rent and rended garments, through which, despite her efforts, her long, tanned and muscular thighs insist on revealing themselves.

How, I ask you, can the above harrowing business be addressed, be described, the full horror of the woman’s plight be brought home to listeners and viewers, if the only ammunition available to the journalist is the  farcically foreshortened  useage ‘…emotional…’

In a word, it is simply not good enough, not good enough at all.

Bring back the heaving bosom, I say!

A superbly rounded buttock in every home!

Huzzah for the trembling lip, long may it reign!

That great journalism, of the above nature, might survive, I offer up my heartfelt prayer.

Your obedient etc

Cromlech Drax